Clandestine
by jaimi-or-jaemi
Summary: Story four in the Unexplained Verse. After the Fall, John saves Jim's life because he is damned if he will lose both of them
1. Yesterday and Today

So this idea originally started back in December with a Jim/John request that ended up being Memories but lead to another full length story plotting itself in my head.

So thank you KendraDuvoa for the original Jim/John prompt

Tumblr about my stories: JaimiStoryTeller

WARNINGS/TAGS FOR THIS STORY: Anal sex, blow job, Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Moody Jim, Self-Reflection

As other Tags/Warnings present themselves they will be listed at the top of the chapters.

All reviews and forms of communication are greatly appreciated!

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_John's POV  
_He was seated beside his bed watching the slender dark-haired genius slumber. There is an IV drip giving him fluids along with all of the vitamins and nutrients he needs to survive.

Closing his eyes he thinks about the previous day.

After receiving a call from someone stating that Mrs. Hudson had been attack and dying he had rushed to head home. Not realizing until he was halfway there that is was a false alarm according to Sherlock's behavior. There was no way he would have responded that way if she was really in danger when he recalls how his friend had responded every other time she had been threaten or in danger. In response to that realization he offered the cabbie twice his fare to rush him back to the hospital. At the hospital he had headed directly to the lab where he had last been with Sherlock to see if he was still there. After seeing the slender boffin was not there, he was debated about whether to check Molly's office or not when he received a phone call from Sherlock first. He considered begging the genius not to do anything stupid but he knew he would be ignored. Instead, he ran as hard and as fast as he could up the stairs, bursting through the door at the same time as he saw Sherlock jump.

Screaming, he bolted to the edge, hoping beyond belief that he somehow made it. Only he could see he did not, he could see the broken body of his best friend lying on the ground. Collapsing to the roof top, he tries to breathe and finds he cannot. Shaking his head, he looks over to where Jim is laying in a pool of blood, but it is small enough that there might still be a very slim chance for him to live.

Frowning, he struggled to his feet and over to the slender genius he had once dated. Out of habit, he had checked the genius' pulse and had nearly stopped breathing again when he discovered he was barely alive.

"I can't lose them both," he muttered, searching for Jim's phone. As soon as he found it he was stumped for a minute on the password before he recalled the fact he once loved to stare at the night sky and types the Latin word for mood: luna. When the phone unlocked he sighed in relief, quickly finding Tiger and hitting send. "'Bastian, I need you to get to the roof of Barts. Now. Bring a straight board and neck brace. And say nothing to no one."

He had not given the tall sniper a chance to speak before he hung up on him. The chance was tiny he would succeed but he was going to try. Only later would he think of the cameras and the sniper would reassure him that they had already been taken care of.

Opening his eyes, he checks the slender mans vitals one more time before heading downstairs to the kitchen. He is not surprised to see Sebastian on his sofa stretched out with his rifle. Nor was he surprised that the front door to the landing was closed and locked.

"You're not staying here indefinitely," he tells the tall strawberry-blonde, "I don't care if you bring supplies but do not tell anyone he is here and make sure that you are not seen on the cameras by Mycroft."

He can tell the sniper wants to argue but he bites his tongue, simply nodding instead.

"I'm making lunch, you still eat anything that does not eat you?" he queries.

A harsh chuckle escapes the strawberry blonde, "Of course."

Nodding, he sets to making some simple salads and sandwiches, with hot tea on the side. Once it is done, he calls out, "Come get your plate."

With the grace of a large cat, the strawberry blonde stands and comes into the kitchen. There is a strained smile on the other man's face as he collects his food.

"Do you think he will wake up?" the sniper asks as he sits down, there is something in his tone very similar to concern. Not surprising considering the genius and sniper had been together for at least twelve years that he knows of.

Closing his eyes he thinks about it for a bit before answering, "We'll know in forty-eight hours or so." When he opens his eyes again, he states, "If he wakes we will need to move him after the funeral."

The tall sniper nods, continuing to eat his lunch.

When they are done eating, he collects the dishes while the sniper makes a few calls. Once he is done with the dishes, he heads back upstairs to check on the sleeping genius, happy to see he is still stable. He is even showing minor signs of improvement according to the monitors hooked up to him currently.

Heading back downstairs, he rejoins the sniper. "Things are looking good so far," he remarks, "If he continues to stay stable and show signs of improvement, I'll lessen the meds keeping him out in the morning instead of waiting for the day after."

"That's good, right?" the sniper queries cocking an eyebrow at him.

He nods once, "It is. We're just lucky it misfired and he is suffering from the percussion more than anything. He has a concussion, and normally I'd already have woken him up but the roof of his mouth is damaged and I am worried I wake him too soon and it will start bleeding." He explains as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

Coming up the steps he can hear his landlady before she stops on the landing and knocks, "John? Are you in?"

Sebastian quickly stands, scooping up his rifle and heading to the bathroom with it. The sniper is staying out of sight as asked.

Sighing, he gets up and heads to the door, opening it up and greeting her with an obviously fake smile, which is far too sad to be real. "Hello Mrs. Hudson, what can I do for you?"

Smiling just as sadly at him, she pats his arm stating, "I was just coming to check on you it's been nearly twenty-four hours since I saw or heard from you and with everything going on, well, I am concern is all."

"I just need some alone time," he replies, allowing his grief into his voice, he does not have to fake it, he really is grieving for his mad friend and for the crazy man upstairs.

"If you need anything at all dear," she tells him seriously, "Anything. I don't want to lose both you boys.'

Reaching out he gives the older woman a quick hug, before telling her, "I'll be sure to ask if I do." Pausing for a moment he considers what to say next and decides to get his story started now, "I might be away for a few weeks after the funeral. I have been offered a private job taking care of a rich business man who hurt himself." He tries to smile, knowing it is unsuccessful, "It might be best if I get away for a time, to adjust and all, there is just too many memories here."

She nods, "I understand dear, I will keep your room open if you think you will be back."

He nods, giving her another quick hug, "Thank you Mrs. Hudson, I probably will be, it will just take time, once I start getting paid I will make sure to send you money."

"You just take care of yourself, and keep in touch! You write so much it shouldn't be hard to send me a letter now and then," she orders him before patting his arm once more and wandering off.

Closing the door, he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. A few minutes later the sniper is back in the living room and stretched out on the sofa with his gun.

"A rich business man who hurt himself?" the strawberry-blonde repeats with a raised eyebrow.

Shrugging he answers, "He is rich last I checked, might work as a criminal but I do recall he had a few legal businesses as well, and he definitely hurt himself."

Chuckling the sniper nods, "True," straightening he then states, "I'll make sure all the appropriate paper work is filed so that if the Iceman comes looking for you, it will all be legal and he will have no reason to pursue it further. Funerals in two days?"

It takes him a moment to understand the jump in conversation, but he nods, "Yeah, in the morning, I was thinking of not taking him off the meds keeping him out until after so I can monitor it, I was also thinking of not taking him off until we have him installed somewhere else."

For a long time the two of them are quiet, both lost in thought, eventually the sniper remarks, "Keep him out, I will have him transferred tomorrow night, so that you are the only one here the day of the funeral. After the funeral return here and I will send a car for you. You'll understand if I stay with the Boss."

He nods, before heading back upstairs to check on Jim once more.

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Yes, it is possible to not die of a head shot if care is given soon enough after in some extreme casses or if the gun misfires, my mom took care of a patient who had that happen to him prior to her stroke.


	2. Funeral

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_John's POV_  
Instead of getting Jim out of his room the day before the prior to the funeral, they had removed him in the middle of the night right before the funeral. The original specialist who was supposed to watch over the transfer and take care of the genius while he was unable to due to having a heart attack and ending up in the hospital. Finding another specialist who could be trusted took time. So it was really early at night, or extremely early in the morning, when he was finally taken out of the flat and to his country estate.

It had taken him a few hours after they left to unwind enough to sleep, an even then his dreams had been plagued by thoughts of Sherlock and Jim, both positive and negative, leaving him a bit unsettled when he wakes up.

After taking a hot shower, he makes himself a tea and settles into his armchair, staring at the chair across from him. He can feel the emotions bubbling up and he ruthlessly pushes them down. Now is not the time for them to be coming to the surface, he has to deal with the funeral first and getting himself installed at the country estate so he can take care of Jim. After his insane genius is working on waking up he will deal with his emotions, not before.

Finishing his tea, he gets up and goes to prepare for the funeral, slipping into the suit he keeps just for that purpose. It has been worn to many different funerals over the years, including his fathers, grandparents, a few school friends who died in a car accident because they were being foolish, and a professor he had gotten along great with. Now he was wearing it again to a friend's funeral. This time the most important friend he has ever had beside's Jim.

Once more he forces his emotions to the back, focusing on getting through the day.

One thing he is happy for is the fact that he is good at compartmentalizing his emotions. It served him well in the war zone and it was going to serve him well today.

Glancing at the clock, he heads downstairs to meet with Mrs. Hudson so that they can head to the funeral. The cab ride there is quiet as they both contemplate the man they lost. At the funeral the only people there are himself, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Greg, and Mycroft besides the cleric doing the service. Through the entire thing he stays in military at ease, eyes completely dry as he observes the ceremony.

When it is done, after everyone else has walked away, he bows his head silently for a moment before murmuring, "I will come back to grieve Sherlock, not today, there is too many people, but I will. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for."

Straightening his head, he turns to rejoin Mrs. Hudson to flag down a cab.

"Doctor Watson, a word," Mycroft intones as he steps over to him, moving away from his sleek black car.

He bites the inside of his cheek as he turns to face the older man, head held up as he falls into parade rest.

"I will continue to pay for Sherlock's portion of the rent since you are not a wealthy man and that is what he would want." The politician states haughtily.

Turning on his heel, he goes to walk away when the taller man continues, "There is nothing you could have done to stop the events as they unfolded."

Growling low in his throat, he turns and punches without thinking about it. His fist connects with the taller man's jaw, staggering him, and he snarls, "The one who could have stopped it was you, had you acted like a brother rather than a bureaucrat. I'll find a way to pay for Baker Street. I don't want your damned charity Mycroft. Fuck off."

Two men in black suits move towards him only to be waved away by the taller man who is eyeing him speculatively. Nothing more is said between the two of them, but the fury crackles in the air between them. A single nod is all he gets out of the older man before he returns to his car and slides in.

"John, are you all right?" His landlady inquires, hurrying over to his side to glance at his hand.

"I'll be fine, sometime tonight or tomorrow I will be leaving for that job I told you about. I have already put my notice in with the clinic. I'll see if I can get an advance on my first check so I can pay you before I go." He replies, anger still strumming through his veins.

"Oh John," she sighs in response, looping her arm with his.

They catch a cab back to the flat, and he packs his military duffle, closing his eyes and forcing the grief away. Once he is all packed and ready to go, he cleans the fridge and kitchen up. Trashing everything that could go bad from the experiments and tucking the equipment away after carefully cleaning it. The food that is good he offers to Mrs. Hudson, what she doesn't take he makes arrangements for the nearest homeless shelter to pick up. After all of that is ready, he gets his phone out and calls the sniper.

"Moran," the older man answers on the second ring.

"It's John, is there any way we can pay Mrs. Hudson in advance for the flat? I don't want him paying my bills." He knows the sniper will understand who he is talking about despite the fact he did not say a name.

"Of course, I'll get the money for the entire year. You can give it to her when I get there with the car. That will be at 10 pm." The sniper replies, "Hell if you wanted, I am sure he would love to let you purchase the entire thing."

He gives a small shake of his head, then remembers they are on the phone, "You know I won't accept that. As it is I hate asking for what is being paid for."

"It's a sure thing you will earn it, he is a pain in the ass worse than any I have ever met when injured. I do not envy you the task of taking care of him. The specialist gave me a list of things needed, if there is anything more you think we will need I will make sure we get it." The strawberry-blonde states seriously.

"Will do, I will be ready at ten." He replies with a smile at the wall. Those two always had preferred to use money in order to deal with situations when they could. "One thing sniper."

"Yeah?"

"No more terrorist ties, the rest I don't really care about, but none of that, that's my one condition." He states softly but firmly.

"Agreed, and I will let you tell him when he wakes up."

"That's fine, alright, definitely doable," he answers with a wiry smile, dealing with Jim is something he can do and in fact is looking forward to doing.

A moment later the phone line goes dead as the sniper hangs up.

The time between when he gets off the phone and when the sniper arrives he completely cleans the flat, hands off the food to the representative who comes for it, has dinner with Mrs. Hudson, and sits in his chair staring at the empty one across from him. He is relieved when he hears the doorbell, and heads downstairs to check, opening it up to find the sniper waiting on the other side.

"John," the older man greets him with a nod, holding out an envelope.

"'Bastian," he replies, "Just let me grab my bag and pass this on and I will be ready."

Nodding one more time, the strawberry-blonde steps within the door, closing it behind him and leaning against it.

Trotting up the steps, he grabs his duffle and carries it downstairs, locking the door behind himself. Setting the bag by the steps, he goes to Mrs. Hudson's door, knocking twice. A moment later she opens the door, her eyes full of emotion.

"You take care of yourself John, keep in touch," she orders him, hugging him tightly.

He hugs her back then offers the envelope, "This should cover the rest of the year and then some. I borrowed some money from a friend so I wouldn't have to worry about it. Please keep the flat for me."

She nods, "Alright John, take care."

He hugs her one more time before stepping away from the door to grab his bag before nodding to the sniper. Straightening, the taller man opens the door and they slip out. He does not know when he will be back, but this has been his home so he will return.

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So this chapter has wanted me to write it for the last forty-eight hours or so, mostly because John wanted to slug Mycroft, now back to finishing Adjustments


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